


real

by Awkihiko



Category: Persona 5
Genre: M/M, Pining, gamer bfs (but not quite.)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 04:46:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11395626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awkihiko/pseuds/Awkihiko
Summary: 5 coffees, 1 victory chant, and 6 hours later, sleep catches up to the boys.





	real

Neon dressed the darkness of the attic, the small TV allowing colors to dance across the pale and tan of Akira and Ryuji’s faces. The two had been at it for hours. They had reached the point of post-verbal communication, opting to grunt rather than speak and focus on the sounds of the game. Determination brought them to the final level; their pixelated knights stood before a monster--the demon they had been pursuing since the game’s beginning. It felt like the real thing; Akira was pumped, sweat beading at his brow and fingers cramping from his grip around the controller. Ryuji, sat on the floor by Akira’s feet, was drooling. 

It was the final battle’s end, their health was dwindling, and the lack of memory card in the retro system reminded them of the dire need to succeed. Ryuji’s hand flew to Akira’s knee and shook his leg back and forth, an anxious  _ Come on… _ leaving his lips as a faint groan. Akira honed in. He shook his head in an attempt to move rogue strands of hair from his view. Victory was so close, Ryuji could taste it on his tongue. Although, victory tasted vaguely similar to the bitter essence of 5 cups of coffee. He refused to focus on the taste and instead devoted his attention to the screen. Strategy arrived last minute. They traded singular blows for attacks that complemented one another, building up damage until the final strike brought the enemy’s demise. 

“Dude!” Ryuji shot up from his place on the ground and pumped his fists, letting the controller crash onto the hardwood floor without a second thought. “We freakin’ did it! The whole thing!” 

He was hollering and laughing like a child, distracting Akira from the game’s congratulatory end screen. A toothy smile broke through his modest grin the louder Ryuji got. Morgana was groaning, cursing, complaining--none could be heard by Akira as he and Ryuji broke into a chant. Ryuji was singing Queen,  _ We Are The Champions _ , off-key with growls and impromptu guitar solos that were accompanied by Akira’s off-beat head banging. 

 

They were wild, they were victorious. 

 

They were exhausted. 

 

“Holy crap,” Ryuji hunched over with palms flat on his knees, sucking in air trying to catch a breath. “6 hours…All gas and no brakes.”

 

Akira gave in to exhaustion to lay on the floor. He focused his attention on the rise and fall of his chest, noting the rhythm of his desperate breathing. After a moment, he spoke for the first time in hours. 

 

“It was like the real thing.” Some sort of noise resembling a mocking laugh and a goose's honk was Ryuji’s response. 

 

“Nah.”  He lay down beside him, resting the back of his head on his forearm. “Not even close.” 

 

Silent for a moment, the two stared at the ceiling. Ryuji closed his eyes and Akira took the opportunity to stare. He had bags under his eyes, his skin was still sunkissed and glowing from the light of the television. Akira felt a familiar pang in his chest from the selfish indulgement and reverted his gaze to save himself. He raised an eyebrow before speaking. 

 

“Better than the real thing?” 

 

“What?” Ryuji grimaced. “No way, man. Don’t tell the others I said this, but uh...You and me? When we’re out there in Mementos or in a palace, it’s like we’re invincible. Like we’re the real deal.” 

 

“Aren’t we?” 

 

“What? Invincible? You’re on somethin’.” 

 

“No,” Akira sighed and turned his head to look at Ryuji again, this time to decode the expression on his face rather than drink it in. “The real deal.” 

 

Ryuji puckered his lips and furrowed his brow as if he hadn’t considered the thought before.

“Huh.” One side of his mouth lifted to reveal half of a porcelain white smile and his head turned only so he could meet Akira’s gaze--and there was that familiar pang. “Yeah! Yeah we are the real deal.” 

 

And for a moment they remained that way, smiling at one another, feeling comfortable entrapment in each other’s eyes. But a moment later is became too much; Ryuji straightened his neck and closed his eyes once more, the remnant of a smile on his face. Akira blinked and rubbed at his eyes, pushing his glasses off his face and discarding them on the floor. 

 

“I should probably head home.” Ryuji’s eyes were still closed, actions deceiving his words, but Akira’s heart sank all the same.

 

“You sure?” He yawned and turned onto his side to face Ryuji better. “It’s pouring outside.” 

 

“Yeah...what time is it?” He yawned mid-sentence. 

 

“Late.” Morgana’s reply was curt with irritation soaking his response. 

 

“Oh,” Ryuji groaned and scratched at his head. “You mind if I crash here? Mom’ll feel better if I don’t try to wander home this late. ‘Specially in the rain.” 

 

Akira nodded and hummed-- _ Mhm _ \--before rolling over onto his stomach and rising from his place on the floor. 

 

“Couch or futon?” 

 

“What, you givin’ up your bed for me?” Ryuji sat up and chuckled. “You really are a gentleman, huh Kira?” 

 

Akira scoffed, betraying his annoyance with a smirk in Ryuji’s direction. He gestured towards the couch and futon with a raised brow. 

 

“I’ll take couch.” 

 

“Excellent choice.” 

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Ryuji practically threw himself on the couch, face first, sighing when he felt his muscles relax and sleep loom closer above him. “You got a blanket? Preferably one that  _ won’t _ leave my feets hangin’ out?” 

 

“For you? I just might.” 

 

“Okay, Gentleman--don’t push it.” 


End file.
